When I hear people talk about the upcoming Mayan apocalypse, my childhood flashes before my eyes. I’m not thinking that the end is near, I’m just remembering the regionally distinctive utterances of my South Jersey playmates: “Give me back that baseball. It’s Mayan!”

Well, if the world does end on the 21st, two days before my 56th birthday, I’ll always be a palindromic age, which isn’t such a bad deal. After all, an apocalyptic event can’t be reversed. Or can it?

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